


The Joy of a Flower Blossom

by JediAnnieScrambler



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Florence - Freeform, Season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-06 01:11:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11025450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JediAnnieScrambler/pseuds/JediAnnieScrambler
Summary: "He carried her over the threshold.It surprised her, the act of being literally swept off her feet, so much so that Bedelia cried out and her arms instinctively wrapped around Hannibal's neck."





	The Joy of a Flower Blossom

**Author's Note:**

> “A flower blossoms for its own joy.” - Oscar Wilde

He carried her over the threshold.

 

It surprised her, the act of being literally swept off her feet, so much so that Bedelia cried out and her arms instinctively wrapped around Hannibal's neck.

 

He laughed, softly and not unkindly, as he carried her through their new Florentine apartment. He took his time, as if their luggage wasn't on the door step beside the open door, as if they weren't wanted fugitives.

 

“What are you doing?” Bedelia said, consciously working to keep her voice calm and unaffected by his sudden show of masculinity.

 

She'd always assumed Hannibal was strong, a theory triggered by how filled out his suits, but to have him lift her like she weighed nothing at all made her heart rate quicken.

 

“Isn't it customary for a husband to carry his wide across the threshold?” he asked and she could feel his chest rumble as he spoke.

 

“Indeed, but we are well past the door,” Bedelia returned.

 

Gently, Hannibal deposited her onto a chaise, “You are correct. I will finish getting our luggage.”

 

And he was gone, disappearing back through the door from where they'd came. Alone, Bedelia shivered at the sudden loss of warmth.

 

He made it a point to not touch her again without permission. Instead, they moved around each other for the rest of the night like train tracks lined up side by side, moving with the ebb and fall of the countryside.

 

They lay, close but not touching, in the bed together. One bedroom, one bed. Hannibal. Bedelia. Part of her want to reach out and touch his hand or maybe his shoulder.

 

Some dark recess of her mind- the part that let her teenage self believe in fairy tales, the part she thought she'd squelched years ago- had idly wondered if he'd planned on seducing and ravishing her. But instead she listened to him breathe in and out as sleep slowly over took her.

 

The next evening he found her looking out at the city from their balcony, wine glass in one hand. Bedelia could hear his approaching foot steps. She could feel the warmth of his body as he stood behind her.

 

Hannibal's hand hovered over the wrist of her free hand, out stretched on the railing, “May I?”

 

“Of course,” she said.

 

Carefully turning her wrist palm up, he traced the pale blue veins with his finger tip, drawing soft patterns on the sensitive side of her arm. Bedelia closed her eyes, counting out ever inhale and exhale she made.

 

She opened her eyes, however, as Hannibal lifted her hand and Bedelia felt her face flush as he kissed the inside of her wrist. As he began to kiss up her arm, Bedelia turned to look down at her empty glass, suddenly embarrassed and annoyed with herself. She was acting no better that a blushing school girl!

 

Feeling her stiffen, Hannibal pulled away, but didn't let go of her hand.

 

“Are you going to stay out here long?” He asked, “The sun is setting and it will soon be cold.”

 

“I'll be in in a moment,” she said, looking back out over the city.

 

Stark white boxes edged with silver appeared in their apartment the next morning. Silver script on the top named some fancy Italian boutique Bedelia had never heard of.

 

Hannibal had already left for the museum, leaving Bedelia to unpack the boxes. They were filled with women's clothing; coats, dresses, nightgowns- anything could ever have wanted or need in her exact size. Methodically, she put each piece away save for a deep blue dress.

 

He made no comment when arriving after work but Bedelia could feel his gaze follow her around the room, lingering where the soft material clung to her skin.

 

“Taste?” he extended a fork bearing a sliced strawberry the next morning.

 

Soft light filling the kitchen, Bedelia looked on as Hannibal prepared their breakfast. She'd offered to help, but he'd shooed her to the other side of the counter promising to teach her the correct way to make a crepe another day.

 

Leaning forward, she caught the strawberry between her teeth, eyes not leaving Hannibal's. He smiled, picking up the bowl to join her on her side of the counter, offering another berry. The strawberries were perfectly ripe and Bedelia could feel their juice roll down her chin.

 

Hannibal reached out, fingertips hovering inches from her skin. He paused, waiting for her slight nod before wiping away the red juice with his thumb. She leaned into his touch as he cupped her face.

 

He stepped closer, tilting her chin up. Without her heels and only in a silk nightgown, Bedelia was quite a good deal smaller than Hannibal.

 

“Hannibal,” she said softly, her voice still gravely from sleep.

 

“ _Mia bella_ ,” Hannibal's thumb grazed her bottom lip.

 

The motion was subtle, but Bedelia felt heat pool in her stomach. Lips parting, she flicked her tongue out to swipe the pad of his thumb. His smile widen slightly, eyes softening, his other hand grazed her waist.

 

But as quickly as he had been to embrace her, he let her go, crossing the kitchen to save a crepe from burning. Bedelia twisted her hands in her nightgown with frustration. He was so close and yet so far.

 

Her desire was growing. From that little seed that had been planted the first time Hannibal had said her name, gently nurtured by his persistence- the invitations to dinner parties she rarely accepted, him appearing on her front step with some extravagant plate in hand- now to this.

 

There was no denying it to herself anymore, lust and desire bloomed like a flower in her chest, full and soft and ready to be picked. It was fitting, flowers were often given to lovers but what was a bouquet really other then a beautiful, slow death.

 

She would cut her own stem.

 

It had been raining all day. The city of Florence was drenched with no sign of it letting up any time soon. Clad only in a red silk robe, Bedelia lounged in the middle of their bed, a glass of wine in her hand, waiting for Hannibal. It felt like a Gothic cliche, but she knew Hannibal would appreciate the aesthetics of it. Listening to the rain, she lay in wait.

 

With a soft gasp, Bedelia woke up. There was a dip in the bed, and before her Hannibal leaned beside her. She hadn't intended to fall asleep but suddenly every nerve was a light.

 

“Were you waiting for me?” He softly asked, “I said I wouldn't be home until late.”

 

“Mmm,” Bedelia reached up, touching his cheek. Her fingers trailed from his jaw to his throat to his tie, where she lingered, “How was your day?”

 

“Better now,” Hannibal said.

 

He covered her hand with his. Bedelia smiled softly, turning her hand over to grasp his wrist, pulling it to the tie of her robe. Eyes moving up her body, Hannibal locked eyes with her. Without breaking eye contact, he unfastened the loose knot with two fingers.

 

Hannibal slid his hand under under the robe, warm fingers tracing up the curve of her waist. His thumb grazed her breast as it traveled to her shoulder where he slowly pulled back the robe. His eyes finally strayed from hers to take her in.

 

She didn't shiver or shrink under his lustful gaze. Instead, Bedelia waited a moment to let him look, then took him by the tie and kissed him. It was a slow kiss, deep and filled with years of longing.

 

As they broke apart, Hannibal grinned. He pulled her on top of him as she shed the robe.

 

“Beautiful,” he breathed.

 

“You're over dressed,” Bedelia returned, making another grab for his tie, his shirt, but Hannibal caught her wrist. Tugging her closer, he trained kisses down her jaw to her throat.

 

“Hannibal,” she said softly, but he didn't hear her, or if he did, he was too busy paying attention to her breasts to notice.

 

“Hannibal,” this time his name came out like a strangled moan. He'd closed his lips around one pert nipple, his other hand rolling her under his thumb.

 

“Hannibal, I want you to fuck me,” Bedelia ran her hands through his hair, scrapping her finger nails along his scalp, “Now.”

 

Suddenly, he flipped them over to the middle of the bed, catching her off guard and knocking the air from her lungs. Pressed together, he nuzzled her throat.

 

“If that's what my little wife wants,” he whispered with a growl. Hannibal sat up, wasting no time in undressing, uncharacteristically littering the floor with clothes, and locating a condom. Then, he paused, at the foot of the bed, watching her.

 

He moved slowly, always the hunter. Lifting her foot, Hannibal kissed her ankle, the curve of her knee, the inside of her thigh, before dipping low.

 

Bedelia's hands gripped the blankets, her back arching as his mouth moved. Her world was reducing small and smaller until it consisted only of his teeth and tongue on the most intimate parts of her. Bedelia's body tensed. Each breathe became ragged as her orgasm built, then with a white hot heat crashing over her, she came with a moan.

 

As the tingling in her limbs subsided, Hannibal kissed his way up her body. He brushed a piece of her hair away then he kissed her. She could taste herself on his tongue. As they kissed, Hannibal slid his hand under on of her legs, wrapping it around himself, drawing her close to him.

 

After they broke apart Bedelia reached up, gently cupping his face, the pad of her thumb trailing across his kiss swollen lips. Never breaking eye contact, he moved, filling her with one fluid motion. Then Hannibal stilled, letting her adjust.

 

Bedelia took even breathes. He was bigger then she was used to even if what she was used to was just her own fingers. But as she watched him watch her, she could see a softness in his eyes.

 

“Good?” he asked, and Bedelia through she heard the smallest insecurity in his voice. Did he hurt her? Was she alright? Was he good?

 

“Good,” she said.

 

He thrust, soon finding a steady pace that suit them both. Grunting, he murmured things in Italian in her ear, words of poetry that she didn't understand.

 

She scratched at his back as a second orgasm built inside of her. Her neatly done nails leaving red lines in her wake, trying to bring him closer then possible. As she came a second time, Bedelia hid her face in the curve of Hannibal's shoulder, the smallest of whimpers escaping her.

 

It only took a few thrusts more for Hannibal to join her in ecstasy, his whole body tensing as he buried himself deep inside of her.

 

Rolling of of her, they lay in exhausted satisfaction for a moment before getting ready for bed. Back in bed, Bedelia lay her head on his chest and Hannibal stroked her hair.

 

“ _Cara mia_ ,” he whispered as they fell asleep.

 

For the first time since they'd arrived, Bedelia awoke before Hannibal. They'd untangled in sleep, and only his hand covered hers. As she watched him sleep, she felt a odd calm settle over her, a peace she hadn't felt before. And she closed her eyes again, falling back to sleep.

 


End file.
